To say he was baffled was an understatement. Though he had yet to precisely discern what this object quite was, for something to resonate with him implied that it was a truly valuable or high level thing indeed. And at his level, things tended to be more resilient.

“Was I wrong?” Asura muttered.

The empty space between his palms taunted him.

“What a pity.”

He stood up, sighing. It truly was unfortunate. This had not been the first “Golden Lotus” he had encountered. The legend was nearly as widespread as cultivation itself; everyone and their dog had heard of it. However, he still felt that it was unlikely it was just natural phenomena. The “Golden Lotus” he had picked up was most probably a prank or arrangement by some powerful senior.

“Cave Spirit, can you detect any residue?” He inquired.

“Master, there is no spiritual residue left.” Came the prompt, stiff reply.

Snorting, he swept his robe, moving across the room. What capricious senior must have planted this practical joke? The Demon Lord continued his musing as he stepped through the doorway. Shooing away the eager attendants outside his study, he considered the possibilities as he strolled through the familiar labyrinthian hallways.

Was this “Golden Lotus” a harmless prank, a nefarious arrangement, or some truly random natural phenomenon? Asura was inclined to believe that the heavens would not arbitrarily create such a useless plant. Thus, left with the two remaining options, he could only speculate about the culprit and their motives.

It was no secret that many senior cultivators had very curious temperaments. It was actually rather difficult to find powerful cultivators with a genuinely stable psyche. Daoist cultivation often required its cultivators to hole themselves up in dank caves for years on end, bitterly sitting with crossed legs. In theory, many hot-blooded youths had exclaimed to the world their commitment to cultivation, but time had chipped away at their patience.

It was a truly horrifying thing to be in near total isolation, with nothing but spiritual energy to accompany you. As a result, most Daoist cultivators abhorred such an experience and chose to seek opportunities through fighting, trading and exploring. Few chose to bitterly gather spiritual energy in silence. Speaking from firsthand experience, he knew that the freaks that chose to relegate themselves to cave abodes were missing more than a few loose screws.

Very often, these cultivators were completely sociopathic or otherwise insane. What sane individual could bear years, decades, even centuries of silence otherwise? Nearly all living beings were social creatures, after all.

When particularly powerful recluses chose to exit cultivation, they would wreak absolute havoc upon the Nine Realms. This included creating fake treasures on a whim. In such a case, the Golden Lotus he had just held was just the casual fancy of some weirdo cultivator with no deeper meaning.

This would be the best-case scenario.

The worst-case scenario was that it was made with malicious intent and its effects were far too mysterious to identify. If this were the case, his life could already not be his own. With that thought, Asura felt a bead of cold sweat develop on the back of his neck.

“Cave Spirit…can you really not detect anything?” He ventured once more.

“There is nothing, Master.”

He was silent once more. It was a mostly futile action, as the Cave Spirit was highly unlikely to detect anything he himself could not. At this point, it was meaningless to dwell on something he had little control over. Stepping before a small archway, he instead turned his attentions to the room ahead.

“Herald, I am glad to see you practicing so diligently.” He spoke gently.

“A-ah! Your Demonship!” Herald scurried over, quickly composing themselves to bow before him. “How were your gains from the trip?”

He laughed softly, patting Herald’s head, “Had anyone else asked this of me, I would think they had underhanded intentions and had them killed. You are much too spoiled by me.”

A pair of glistening eyes stared up at him, pleading for mercy, “I’m sorry! I won’t ask again! Please don’t kill me.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me brat,” Asura scoffed, pinching their cheek, “Let me examine your cultivation now.”

Brusquely lifting up Herald’s shirt, the Demon Lord placed his hand over their stomach, just over their dantian. An impression of their cultivation immediately entered his mind.

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“Good. I can already see the outline of a nascent Demon Core in your dantian. You haven’t let me down. When you truly form your core and step into true demonhood you will finally be able to choose your own form.”

Herald eagerly bobbed their almost spherical head, “I will do as Lord Asura says!”

“I have high hopes for your true form. I certainly hope that you transform into something greater than an imp.”

“I will strive to do well!”

“Then prove your words.” Asura imparted as he turned and left. This time, his intention was to deal with the two disappointments.

---

Two shivering forms kowtowed before him in an evident display of submission and plea for mercy.

The smaller one cried out, “Have mercy on us, your subordinates, your Demonship!”

“Mercy, Great One!” the taller one echoed.

Asura stood over both prostrated bodies, impassive.

“Scribe. Advisor. How long have you served me in those capacities?”

“Already one month, your Lordship!” the Scribe squeaked.

The Advisor followed suit, “As here! Just over a month, your Demonship!”

“One month, huh?”

“Ye—”

“Shut up.”

“Ye—”

Asura clenched his fist and the imp’s mouth was immediately sealed. The Scribe’s eyes bulged out comically as he struggled to get a word out. Naturally, the Advisory kept his trap shut.

“Cave Spirit, is this true?” The Demon Lord asked.

“No, Master, to be exact, this iteration of Scribe and Advisor have served you for twenty-nine days and fourteen hours.”

“That is close enough to one month. And one month is enough to ascertain your performances.” Asura continued, “They are both terrible.”

“Cave spirit, note down that this selection failed as well.”

Immediately, the magically bound pair began wildly flailing around, silently crying out. Unmoved, Asura quickly condensed the nearby spiritual power and squeezed. Like the terrible death grip of a viper, both Scribe and Advisor were crushed to pieces under the unrelenting force. Mere seconds later, their mangled corpses lay strewn on the ground and began disintegrating into spiritual ash.

“Master, I have recorded that the seven hundred and fourth generation has failed as well. Would you like me to collect their ashes to fertilize the next batch?”

“Yes. It seems I still have a long way to go.” He muttered.

“Hmm. It seems you do.”

Asura froze. It was not the Cave Spirit that had responded. He had specifically programmed it to not respond unless it was a direct command. Who had spoken?

“I believe you should know that, young demon.”

His eyes were wide as he glanced down to his hands. Nestled in his palm was a lotus that shone golden.

“Senior. This junior would like to know your intentions.”

The voice within his head gave a hearty laugh.

“Mine are much the same as yours!”

“Could senior elaborate?” Asura braved.

He could not see the senior’s face, but he had the distinct impression that he could see the visage of a smug, assured face.

“Just as you want to perfect the lives of these minor demonfolk, I want to do the same!”

“What?”

There was an ominous, forbidding feeling building up at the back of his head.

“Cave Spirit, activate all the res—”

“Asura, what can you hope a Cave Spirit can do for you,” the voice chuckled, “It would already be far too late anyway.”

“Shi—”

Asura’s curse was cut off by a sudden violent warping of space, at a level far above his previous manipulations. He felt himself getting sucked in by the torrential attraction of the revived Golden Lotus in his hand. Desperately trying to throw the damned thing away from him, his abilities surged with all the power he could muster.

It was no use. The lotus stuck to his hand like a stubborn magnet, even increasing its attractive force. Although the great Demon Lord blazed with power, fiercely resisting the suction by firing off multitudes of powers and abilities, the only change was the ensuing devastation in the land.

At this point, Asura’s arm was contorted and absorbed into the Golden Lotus up to his elbow. Frantic, he utilized every treasure stored on his person and spatial storage bag. Some flashy, some inconspicuous, the treasures shared the same characteristic of doing nothing to abate the situation at hand.

In moments, the surrounding landscape was charred for leagues on end from Asura’s brazen display of power and his arm up to his shoulder was devoured.

“I REFUSE TO DIE!” He screamed, resolutely blowing up the left side of his body in an attempt to separate himself from the vacuum.

The resulting implosion was tremendous, irradiating an even greater amount of land for centuries to come. A once prospering territory was now a wasteland with the frenzied effort of a Demon Lord.

At the same time, the suction of the lotus grew only stronger, sucking in the devastated remnants of Asura’s body. The pain from having half of one’s body obliterated was unbearable, and he screamed the entire process.

As even his head and face began to be sucked into the center of the Golden Lotus, a bright golden light beamed out from it, illuminating the ruined tracts of land. Glowing even brighter as the last of Asura was consumed, it finally reached its climax as Asura’s screams abruptly stopped and the light simultaneously winked out.

At the epicenter of a great catastrophe that spanned for half a world, neither the fabled Golden Lotus nor famed Demon Lord Asura could be found.

On this day, Demon Lord Asura, conqueror of dozens of worlds and an immensely powerful being in his own right, had disappeared from the face of the earth!